


Princess of Atlas

by vaultbug



Category: Borderlands (Video Games)
Genre: Fluff, Gen, Princess Rhys 2.0, Rescue Missions, Sexual Tension, Teasing
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-13
Updated: 2020-06-27
Packaged: 2021-01-28 22:11:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,008
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21399466
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vaultbug/pseuds/vaultbug
Summary: "This has been the fifth time this week," Zer0 teases when they cut him down from the chains. "One may think you are / paying these poor suckers for / me to steal you back."Rhys covers his face with his hands. "Despite appearances," he grits out between teeth, "I am not enjoying this, thanks."
Relationships: Rhys/Zer0 (Borderlands)
Comments: 29
Kudos: 311





	1. first kidnapping

i.

\---

His first time being kidnapped is a dirty, dusty trip in the back of someone’s SUV. It reeks of piss and skag entrails -- and he’s pretty sure if the car jolts anymore the corpse next to him will fall on him, staining his new suit red. (Well, red-er.) His hands are cuffed behind his back, and they’ve taken his shoes for some odd reason. His mustache itches under the hastily-made gag. 

Overall, it’s a pretty shitty morning. 

Rhys stares at the trunk ceiling. 

_ Damn assassins and their melodramatics, _he thinks bitterly.

His particular assassins sound like they’re just as tired of this as he is. One speaks up, voice soft despite the age of cigars in it. “How much they payin’ us?” She asks. “Gave up fistin’ shots for this shit.”

“Hell if I know. Just another fetch quest for all I care.”

“We get to keep the body after they’re done with him? CEO doesn’t have much meat but he’ll make a good toothpick.”

“Do I get a say in this?” He snarls at the trunk’s ceiling. The entire car falls quiet, and then swerves roughly to the side. He hits his head on the top of the trunk and it irritates him more than it hurts. He lashes out with his foot. Ow. Ow ow ow. Do _ not _ kick a car, he reminds himself. “Let me _ out, come on _ guys, I got big cash. I’m Atlas CEO! Come _ ooon. _”

The person on top of the trunk hits back, a nice thud that leaves a fist-shape dent 10 mm from Rhys’ nose. “Pipe down,” calls the first guy. It’s distinctly Pandorian in nature. Definitely one of Katagawa’s minions then, hired straight from the Children of the Vault. Sweet. This morning could not get any worse. “You’re bitchin’ more than the last guy. Ah, wasn’t he a treat huh? Ah, don’t give me that look Jerry, he had a nice chin. Scrumptious.”

“You are a weirdass dude, Steve.”

“I’ll pay you!” Rhys tries. It’s about his sixth time this morning pleading this case. However, unlike the last five times his voice doesn’t crack. That was good. The Jack-like voice in the back of his mind hums a nice note of, ‘_ maybe you are cut out to be CEO, Rhys my boy!’ _That’s not a voice to be listening to, he reflects immediately afterwards. “Come _ on, _I’ll triple what the other guy’s paying. Really!”

The car swerves again and this time the corpse does indeed fall onto him. He gets a face of psycho rot and some other stuff he punts immediately out of his ECHO-net’s definitions. It smells. It smells so bad he wants to ascend straight back in time to this morning when he decided to take a jog around the East side of Atlas rather than the normal West, and smack himself so hard in the face he gets a concussion. Maybe push himself off the side of the Atlas building. He doesn’t know. All he knows is muffled rage and embarrassment that he’s going to die here, covered in psycho rot, smelling like the back-end of a goddamn Jabber -- 

He’s crying, he realizes. Great. If this wasn’t embarrassing enough. He can’t even wipe the tears away on a sanitized surface or his hands. Wonderful. 

He really wants something to shoot him.

“Aw, man.” The man on top the trunk sounds as saddened as him. “Can we hurry this up? The CEO’s depressing me out, man.”

“Shut _ up _ ,” he bites back but it’s choked. “Couldn’t -- couldn’t you at least removed this corpse? It smells --” _ Like a skag’s rear end. _“Awful.”

The Pandorian voice sounds almost offended. “My to-go meal? Now why would I do that?”

“Twink's got a point,” the lady voice snipes. “Fuckin’ disgusting man. That thing’s three weeks old.”

“The taste ages like fine wine.”

“The taste’s probably maggots, idiot.”

"Cockroaches, more like."

Ew. Ew ew ew. “_ Please _ stop talking,” he grits out; the assassins laugh. One pounds the trunk again. 

“Aw, whatchu gonna do, Atlas baby, vomit on me?”

“Maybe I will,” he threatens weakly back.

Or, well, he doesn't actually get that far in the sentence. He hollers only, “_ Maybe I --” _and that’s all he manages because a rifle violently cracks overhead and by his left ear, something hits the car. Something pops like a burst blood vessel and the car veers left spastically, and Steve hollers -- 

(like a slow-motion movie car crash)

\-- and they're airborne.

The car flips. He thinks that’s what happens. Or it rolled sideways. Both ways, he hits the top of the trunk with his head and curls in on himself as gravity fades to weightlessness. Someone’s screaming (probably him) and he thinks something’s bleeding (or maybe that’s him, oh well). The corpse clings to him like a cold, slimy worm. 

They hit the pavement with a deafening screech. The car slides and sparks fly beneath his feet; if he wasn’t hollering bloody murder before, he is now. He’s acutely aware of gunfire very close, and the rushing of feet over him. Something hits the top of the trunk, limp. Steve is screaming. Hungry fire hisses in his ears.

God. He’s going to die here. 

“Hey!” He tries to call out. There’s blood in his mouth. Probably not his. Yuck. Gross. Ugh. “Hey! Is anyone out there? Help?”

The crackling fire is all that answers. The lady from before is now hollering, voice raw and terrified. Great. Someone’s picking them off one by one. Maybe Maliwan. Or rogue psychos. Or haywire bots. Or perhaps one of his employees, he thinks hopefully. But -- not being a dick or anything -- that's reallygiving them too much credit. 

The smell of gasoline fills his nose. Jerry shrieks and there's a gunshot. _ How could this Monday get any worse,_ he marvels as he stares between his knees to his hole-riddled socks. _ How could it possibly get worse? _

Promethea indeed proves him wrong on that. It gets much, much worse. It grows quiet. And quiet? Quiet is the worst sound of them all.

The crackling of fire stops and gunfire prattles to a stop. Above him, the crackling of fire stops, muted. From what he can hear, the outside world has become a vacuum of sound. Rhys opens his eyes and squints. The EchoEye informs him there is one survivor outside but refuses to give him any more details. Probably got busted when he hit his head. God, life wasn’t making it easy on him.

He hollers. "Is _ anyone _ out there?"

The survivor's head snaps up. The figure, glitching yellow in the EchoEye, stands up from the wreckage and makes its way over to him. It seems to pause over his trunk. Wonderful, Rhys muses in panic as it cocks its head sideways, curious. That wasn't serial killer psycho murder vibes _at _all.

"Hello?" He squeaks.

At that exact time, his EchoEye decides it's done. The yellow infrared gives out and he's left again to the curse of his organic vision. "Shit," he mutters, then freezes as the trunk glows red. Oh. That wasn't infrared. "Hi? Uh, you hostile? Lethal? Gonna kill me? Please don't."

The trunk lid lights red around the edges. He scoots all the way to the back of the trunk, despite the sickening insect crunches he's hearing beneath him with every movement. Puts his legs in a ready position to kick out if said rescuer is a cannibalistic nutso. He hopes not. He really hopes it's a negotiable bandit he can invite to become part of Atlas' family. Or pay off. That could work too.

The trunk shifts. God, his hands are shaking. He's dead. He's deader than dead. He should've stayed back on Pandora with Vaughn and played pop the bandit.

"Please don't kill me," he squeals and then --

And then there’s Zer0 and, _ wow _ , his brain stops functioning. The psycho rot is no longer an issue. Actually, nothing’s really an issue because Zer0 is _ here _and standing right over the car trunk with a smiley face on their visor, and he’s probably smiling back like an idiot smeared in brown maggots. Hoorah. 

He tries to say hello. Nice to see you. God, you’re hot. It doesn’t really work out.“_ Hhguh, _” is what he really says, words apparently too stunned to say anything else.

Zer0’s smiley turns into a winking one. They hold out their sword before Rhys’ brain can consider the advantages of burning alive in the SUV rather than burning alive of embarrassment next to the assassin, and quickly slice through the Maliwan cuffs. Then, with an iron grip, they yank him from the car as if he weighs nothing. “There you are,” the assassin says simply. “There you are indeed / Lorelei was wondering / scary without her coffee.” The ending is punctuated by a shivering emoji. 

He’s still holding their hand. Right. Don’t clutch to the scary ex-Crimson Raider. Letting go, he stumbles backward and nearly falls again on his ass. Zer0’s other hand whips up and seizes his shoulder before he pitches backward into the trunk once again. God, may the Vaults kill him. Half of him wants the car to explode right now and skewer him into bits. 

(he’s embarrassing himself in front of _ Zer0, _get a grip, Rhys)

"I was...kidnapped! Yes. Kidnapped." He manages to stutter out when his brain stops singing love-struck sonatas. "Was jogging. Assassins caught me unawares. Sorry."

Zer0 hums. It is a thoughtful noise. "They are not worthy to be called assassins," they say, letting go of his shoulder. He mourns the loss of contact. Turning, they bend down to poke at the ruins of the car. An arm lays pinned underneath the wreckage. "Foolish to think they could steal you from me."

“Oh, yeah, definitely.” The implications of their words do not hit him until after he turns around to stare at the bullet-riddled street. Only then does his brain catch up. He snaps back around. “Wait. Wait, wait, _ wait _ \-- _ what? _" 

In the distance, another car blows up. 

Zer0 says nothing for a bit, then they speak. It is...unnervingly soft for the assassin. “You, my employer / I made myself very clear / I shall protect you.” A pause. The next word is stressed, dangerous. “Unrelentingly.”

“Alright. Ok.” Rhys tries to gather his wits. “So when I went missing for two hours you got…” He fumbles for the word. It is clearly not making a good case for him as Zer0’s blank visor stares back, cold. “...Worried?”

“What is _ worry _,” Zer0 deadpans back, sarcastic.

“Oh, piss off.” The comeback snaps back before he can stop it. He freezes and glances at the Vault Hunter. Great. Well, now he was dead.

Except he isn’t. They don’t say anything, but as he watches in terror, a quick ‘_ !’ _ goes over their visor before it is replaced by an enthusiastic, almost excited happy face. Rhys nearly faints. “A backbone for once / Rhys, you are full of surprises / it is...endearing.” 

He cannot respond to that. Of course, his body doesn’t get the memo and he feels his ears light up like stop-lights. Swiftly, almost mumbling in intent to steer straight awayfrom this conversation, he looks down at his socks again. "You uh, you haven't happened to see my shoes, have you?" He asks weakly. “If we’re heading back to Atlas. Together. I need them?”

“No.”

“Well, whoop-dee-doo.” He mutters and gets ready to hobble along the metal shrapnel highway in socks. "At least tell me the meeting hasn't started yet.”

"The meeting is stalled / your disappearance, slowed us / we are expected soon." Zer0 informs. With them this close he can feel their voice against his shoulder. (_ Yay _, a traitorous little thought squeals.) “Unless you wish to remain here?” 

“Mmmm_mm _ , _ no thanks. _"

They head down the road slowly, and if Zer0’s arm snakes around his back, it is not commented on.

They do not make it to the meeting.


	2. second time's the charm

ii.

\---

Rhys is in the bathroom when the second kidnapping attempt happens.

Not doing anything, of course. He'd rather die than be caught with his pants around his ankles. He's just using the ATLAS washroom as a means to escape a terribly dull, very stale meeting, brushing his fingers through his hair and moustache and using every possible excuse to remain in front of the mirror. 

Beside him Zer0 leans back, Zs zig-zagging to and fro across their visor. They have been the only bodyguard who had insisted on following Rhys into the washroom, which is a bit insulting to Rhys as it seems they cannot trust him with something as simple as that without having to be protected. Or perhaps Zer0 is frankly, weird. Rhys isn’t about to ask.

“Must you be in here,” he deadpans to his friend.

“I am on-shift.” Zer0 replies for the tenth time and sends a smiley face across their screen. “You must be protected.”

“From what? The toothpaste?” He gestures wildly and hits his organic hand on the edge of the sink. Ow. He cups his hand and contains the urge to holler bloody murder. “_ Do not say a thing _,” he threatens while nursing the aching fingers.

Zer0 sends him a ‘LOL’.

And suddenly they are quiet and then one of their hands stretches out to yank Rhys right into their chest as a gunshot goes off and into the ceiling. Their sword shoots out and into the wall -- or it would’ve went through the wall, had not an assassin been lurking directly beside the doorway and in direct path of the sword. Both blade and assassin hit the wall with a sickening splat, and remain there, pinned. 

Rhys is busy combusting. His face is right in Zer0’s neck, and he’s pretty sure he’s open-mouthing their collarbone by accident. They are warm under him and his hands have latched onto them like second-nature. He’s pretty sure he’s gripping their waist and shoulder. He really doesn’t want to register how that feels under his hand.

The inside voice pipes up right on time. _ Alright, that’s good enough fondling your bodyguard there, Rhysie old boy, _it tells him.

He tries to pull back. They’re still holding onto him. Of course, his brain doesn’t register that they’re not letting go and so starts talking right there against their neck. “Ah, thanks bro,” he stutters, even though he’s pretty sure he’s speaking directly into Zer0 and that the chest is as soft as Vaughn’s pecs without the armour, and _ no _, that was not the comparison to be making right now after he had nearly died. 

“It is no worry,” Zer0 says back and lets go. His legs were not ready for that yet and so he stumbles back and naturally, Zer0 catches him and he lands on their chest again. Wonderful. Rhys kinda wishes the assassin did kill him rather than this secondhand embarrassment.

“Ah, shit, sorry,” he hears himself half-laugh, half-panic into their chest. His hands reach up for their shoulders to pry himself off them. “Wobbly legs, just was almost killed, just gimme a second...I am _ so sorry _,” and he laughs again, high pitched and awkward. 

Their hands go around his waist. Rhys’ brain says, _ oh, _that’s a thing. That’s a thing that definitely is happening. He freezes.

“Enjoying yourself?” Zer0 hums -- and _ oh, _the vibrations are right there and it sends a shock right down his spine, promising delicious heat. He looks up and the assassin’s visor is oddly quiet but their posture reads intrigue.

He scrambles back. “I am _ not _enjoying being almost assassinated,” he stutters and raises his cybernetic arm to point at Zer0. “Unless that was a hug and you’re okay with hugs. Then yes. I enjoyed the hug.”

Zer0 sends him another ‘LOL’ and leans back. “A hug,” they say. They do not sound convinced.

_ Get a grip _ , he tells himself quietly. _ You gotta get used to assassination attempts. _

He clears his throat. “Is there any more?” He asks.

Zer0 only tilts their head and he sees himself, flustered and red in their visor. “No,” they say after a pause. “Just us.”

Yeah, bad choice of words there Zer0. He sees himself light up again in their visor. “Wonderful!” He squeaks, and claps his hands. Avoiding the body he goes for the door. “Alright, back to the meeting then. Come on. Loads of exciting things to do there.”

“Loads of exciting things to do here too,” Zer0 mimics and sends a winky face. 

He about runs out of the bathroom. If it results in Zer0 sending him laughing face emojis throughout the entire meeting when the representatives’ backs are turned, so be it. That is _ not _a can of worms he wants to open now.

Damn assassins, he thinks as Zer0 watches him from across the room. Damn, bloody assassins.

He had no idea how much worse it would get.


	3. three of clubs

The third time he nearly gets killed, well. By the third time he’s  _ starting  _ to get an inkling of what’s going on. That maybe, just maybe this whole CEO gig will have to put up with a lot of kidnapping attempts and assassinations -- ones he has to prepare for. He can’t just expect Zer0 to save him every time (and maybe he does, maybe he does but he’ll have to up Zer0’s pay cheque for every thwarted asassination attempt and that’ll drag another 2 mil out of Atlas’ bank for  _ sure _ ). Surely there was another way to prevent him being kidnapped or shot at. Jack --

(don’t think of Jack. Jack never dealt with assassination attempts because he conducted assassination attempts and that’s a low Rhys will never find himself doing.)

The third time he’s nearly killed is in a club house.

The dance floor -- disco-balls and a droning, shitty house trap to match -- is vibrant as he walks through. Literally. The floor seems to sway and wobble with the beat and Rhys feels like throwing up, but pushes it down because he’s  _ cool _ , alright? Cool as a cucumber. He’s dressed to the nines and he’s actually put on a proper tie for once, and the stark red of his tuxedo matches the armor of the seven ATLAS guards surrounding him. 

Zer0 hovers at his elbow. Out of all of them, they stick out the most; they’ve opted to wear their slightly more durable armour which is, in the language of Vault Hunters, equivalent to having dressed to the nines too. Rhys will admit though, their nines is a bit more bullet-proof and a lot more intimidating than his -- and jet black, with the faintest of red biolights tracing up their arms and alongside their visor. Every thirty seconds the ATLAS logo flickers through their visor -- a brilliant red sign of their allegiance -- but they still draw eyes. And voices. And a lot of things actually, because as they pass through the crowd a few of the club members start to shift back and forth and fingers go to holsters, nervous. 

Which is not really a good look for a diplomatic conversation with a fellow corporate leader. But Rhys admits, Zer0 is right to be over prepared and overdressed. This part of Promethea is a nasty lil’ area, just the pure embodiment of a corporation’s [REDACTED] message. He’s considered nicknaming it ‘Lil’ Pandora’ but feels that’s a little insensitive to the Pandorians, who really still are one of a kind. Vaughn included.

Zero touches him on the elbow. Rhys falls out of his thoughts and all attention, unintentionally, goes to them. They say, “Your target is heading northeast.”

“Ah, perfect,” Rhys says, because he’s just caught sight of the target -- a brilliantly thin young boy who looks just as lost as he is in this club. The boy’s got a cup in his hands and a visible sheen to his forehead -- and six to seven more bodyguards surrounding him with dangerous glares. As Rhys watches, the kid turns the cup twice over, shredding the plastic side with one finger. “Hey, he’s kinda young, isn’t he?”

Zer0 doesn’t say anything for a moment, then replies. “Corporate wars.”

Ah. A loaded answer. Rhys wonders, then, if Maliwan had gotten to his parents too. Then he throws that thought away, because he’ll start getting both sad and furious -- a combination, he’s been told by Lorelei, that makes him rather unnerving to be around.  _ And not the Fl4k unnerving,  _ she had said.  _ More the ‘I can’t tell if you’re going to cry or blow a Maliwan ship out of orbit’ unnerving.  _

So. Don’t think about the kid probably orphaned by Maliwan. Think about business. And business deals. Rhys, be cool. No, be frigid. Be as cold as a frozen bag of cucumbers.

He breathes in. Game face on. “Alright, let’s go,” he says.

He takes one step and that’s when the sniper strikes.

Now here’s the thing. Rhys doesn’t do shields. Not that he has anything against shields. They’re durable and handy and pretty useful in a pinch. The problem with shields is that he just doesn’t like them. And not in a macho, Mr. Togue type of dislike -- but the dislike that comes from wearing Hyperion shields for half his life. Sometimes they spark. Sometimes they shortcircuit. Sometimes, when you’re attempting to ask out your first crush afterschool while Vaughn videotapes encouragingly from the background, they set on fire and now your pants are on fire and your crush is laughing instead of helping. Now ATLAS technology wouldn’t do anything like that, probably. (He hasn’t worked out all the kinks.) But it still is a dislike and he refuses to wear them. 

Which is...bad, if you think about it objectively. One well-placed bullet and Rhys would be a handsome corpse splayed on the ground. But that’s a risk he’s willing to take. Besides, seven guards and one Zer0. What could go wrong?

The sniper strikes. 

Zero is quicker.

It happens in slow motion. Or, for Rhys, that’s what it feels like. One second he is taking a step and the next Zero has him cradled between their arms and the bullet hits Zer0’s back. He thinks for a second,  _ oh my god I killed Zer0  _ when there’s this very high-pitched  _ PING!  _ like a cartoon, and the bullet flicks off Zer0’s back and ricochets back towards the very-hidden sniper, who is somewhere in the second story. There’s a yell, a curse and then from the ceiling plunges a man dressed full in cloaking tech, and hits the dance floor with a sickening splat. He’s dead before he can even get up, because all six of his guards move as one and open fire. Mr. Sniper becomes little more than swiss cheese.

Zer0 is, again, still holding him. Their visor is notedly mute and blank and Rhys thinks panicked,  _ no I’ve actually killed them.  _ Then their hands begin to move and the surge of relief that goes through his chest is way beyond friends and slipping into dangerous zones of no-return. 

They don’t let go of him though. That’s not normal. Rhys begins to speak, and it catches in his throat as the arms squeeze around him and hands dip towards his waist. He thinks he makes an undignified squeaking noise. His brain is on fire. No, there’s a logical explanation for Zer0 doing this. A hug? Then the fingers slip under his jacket and  _ move up _ his spine and -- Rhys feels his teeth snap together. Has Zer0 finally lost their mind and decided to return the groping, here? “Now is  _ not _ the time,” he hisses -- and then hears a click and the shield Zer0 has placed on his back hums to life. The needle of the machine jabs and sinks into his skin, and calibrates -- then pins and needles fill his body and then fades away just as quickly. 

Zer0 lets go of him and Rhys staggers backwards. He raises one hand and the foam of an invisible, steady barrier surrounds his fingers. He then looks at Zero’s hip. Sure enough, his friend’s shield is missing. Betrayal fills him, just as much as shock and -- admittedly, a little bit of affection. “Is -- is this your shield?” He stutters.

Zer0’s visor flickers to life. A ‘...’ fills it. “Talk later,” they said and there’s a dangerous note to their voice. “Business first.”

And then with that ominous note they unsling the rifle on their back and turn around. 

_ Uh-oh,  _ Rhys’ brain provides.

* * *

They do talk later. As soon as they are back in the safety of his office, actually. Which kinda sucks, because Rhys was planning on fleeing to the safety of his quarters, locking himself away in his nuclear bunker and waiting out the next month until Zer0’s wrath fades away. It’s not a very solid plan, as he expects Zer0 would somehow manage to break in anyways -- but it’ll give him at least a good solid five hours to write out his will and place management of ATLAS into Lorelei’s hands. Maybe a few notes to Vaughn, maybe a few for Fiona and Loader Bot and Gortys and...Sasha. 

He gets to his office before Zer0, at least. Zer0’s been held up at the front doors most likely, by his poor guard Steve who is probably scared shitless. He doubts Zer0 would kill Steve. Steve’s a nice guy. Everyone likes Steve. It gives him about ten minutes to gather all the essentials and go to the hidden elevator outside his door. He flings toothpaste, paperwork, writing supplies into a briefcase and slips on more comfortable shoes. Then, he turns to leave.

Zer0’s form manifests in the doorway. He screams, clutches the briefcase and nearly falls backward. Thankfully, the wall is there. “Oh!” He manages wobbly as Zer0 advances. “Hi! Didn’t see you there buddy, uhhhhh, how are you?”

“You cannot run that easily.” Zer0 notes. There’s a distinct lack of amusement in their tone. Their visor remains terrifyingly blank.

“Yes, yes. I kinda got that.” Rhys laughs, high pitch. “I was just -- just going to the washroom, is all.” Terrible lie. Try harder. “To wash up. Near death experiences and all. Uhhh, you want your shield back?”

“I am here to talk /regarding shields and you, sir / you're an idiot.” Zer0 says. Blunt. Unforgiving. They march closer and Rhys eyes the window. Maybe, if he gave it a nice running start, he’d get lucky, break through and plunge to a nice death. Ah, who is he kidding. He’d just smack into it. He had designed them ‘missile launcher-proof’ for a reason. “

And now Zer0’s right in front of him, leaning down. Rhys’ eyes are stuck on his chest. Faintly, behind all his terror that stupid thought of  _ oh they’re still hot  _ is echoing. 

“What?” He squeals.

“You’re an  _ idiot _ ,” Zer0 repeats. “Shields are protective / you are flesh and bone, and weak / so, so fragile.” A pause. One hand falls on his shoulder, and squeezes tightly. Rhys feels the grip electrify all the way through his spine and down. “Wear a  _ shield _ ,” the assassin says.

“But --”

“I will have Lorelei hold you down as I stitch a shield into your back,” Zer0 threatens and it’s kinda endearing, despite the physical violence of the threat. Concerned bodyguard endearing. Almost like an overprotective partner -- and that’s a thought Rhys cuts off immediately before his ears once again become plane beacons. 

“So you’re not here to kill me?” He asks, just to make sure.

And for the first time in the history of Zer0 being a bodyguard, Rhys watches Zer0’s shoulders slump. The hand on his shoulder leaves, and to Rhys’ astonishment, Zer0 raises it to their visor and presses it there as if massaging their temples. “No,” they say -- and it’s exasperated, amused. The tension in the room evaporates. “I have not received a high enough offer yet.”

And it’s like  _ that _ , how quickly Rhys goes from terror to just feeling relieved. Like a switch. On to off, back to this comfort between them that’s way too personal now to be just a normal CEO-bodyguard dynamic. The dark joke is so, so  _ Zer0  _ he doesn’t even feel alarm anymore, but just a warmth in his chest that should be alarming, but isn’t.  _ High enough --!  _ He splutters, crosses his arms. “Very funny,” he remarks. “Very, very funny, joking about my assassination. Not like it’s my death we’re talking about here.” 

He pauses then. “You uh, you want your shield back? I can whip up another, probably.” 

“Keep it.” Zer0 says.

He blanches. “Really? I mean, it seems expensive --”

“Keep it.”

“Alright,” Rhys says and  _ god,  _ he can hear the fondness in his own voice he might as well bend down on one knee and ask the assassin out already.  _ I’m whipped _ , he realizes.  _ I’m so goddamn whipped.  _ “And, yes. I’ve been a…” come-on, say it through gritted teeth, “Idiot.”

Zer0 does not do anything, but tilts their head in response. Rhys splits into red blotches. “Like, an idiot? You were right. I’ve been -- a bit stubborn, about the shield. And other things.” He tries a smile. It’s way too kind, the smile. Not like a CEO and bodyguard. Personal.

Zer0 sends him a :) in response.  _ “I’ve been an idiot,” _ their vocal processor plays back at him, all flustered and his voice.  _ They’ve been recording him this whole time _ , his mind understands -- and there must be some flash of recognition in his eyes because Zer0’s :) goes to a ;) and the assassin  _ vanishes.  _

Rhys  _ burns _ . “Hey, hey!” He hollers ( _ and he’s laughing, goddamnit, goddamn that bloody assassin--! _ ), reaches out to where Zer0 once was -- and touches air. He whips around and yells into a (probably now empty) room. “Hey, I didn’t say you could do that! Zer0!  _ Zer0!” _

Zer0 doesn’t respond. But something touches his chin ( _ cups his chin _ ) and before he can snag it, the assassin is gone.

He stands, shaky, there for a few moments. Then Rhys stumbles over to his chair and presses two fingers to his face, to the lingering ghost touch. 

_ I’m absolutely whipped _ , he thinks again.

For some reason, it does not bug him.


End file.
